


by touch alone

by princesskay



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24340654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: After Bill's divorce, he and Holden strike up a "friends with benefits" arrangement, but it doesn't take long for either of them to realize that their connection is about more than sex.
Relationships: Holden Ford/Bill Tench
Comments: 22
Kudos: 121





	by touch alone

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this prompt from anonymous on tumblr: Bill and Holden have been hooking up (driven by need and not saying anything about it) until they eventually have the ‘what are we?’ convo. Thanks for the inspo! 💛

It begins innocuously - as innocuously as a sexual relationship with one’s co-worker can - at the Command Post Pub on a Friday evening in November, one week before Thanksgiving. 

Holden is sitting at his desk, finishing up the last of his paperwork on the case he’d just returned from, when Bill wanders out of his office, and asks if he wants to go for a drink.

The invitation comes as somewhat of a surprise. They haven't exactly been communicating well since Atlanta, and Bill has been so wrapped up in the personal issues of his divorce for the past few months that their relationship outside of work has been all but shunted to the back burner. Even so, Holden agrees without argument. 

The pub is fairly packed at the precipice of the weekend, lots of Quantico recruits, agents, and other working men racing from stressful jobs for a hard-earned drink. They sit at the bar, crowded on either side by raucous laughter and jostling young men, but Holden is focused on Bill’s weary expression as he lights up his cigarette. 

He takes a sip of his beer, gauging whether he should ask Bill how he’s doing or make some kind of awkward small talk. He can read between the lines on Bill’s face, the way he’s quietly holding it all together with raw fingers and broken nails. He hasn’t talked about the divorce aside from obligatory remarks about meetings, hearings, and lawyers, but the emotional toll lurks beneath his worn facade. 

Before Holden can scrape together some casual mention of the weather, work, or the weekend, Bill clears his throat. 

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For coming.” Bill says, staring down into his beer. “I just …”

Holden gazes at Bill’s stoic profile, waiting for the rest of the admission to emerge. Smoke curls from his lips as his brow creases stubbornly against honesty. In the dim light of the bar, even his usually pale blue eyes look dark and shaded like storm clouds rolling across a sunny day. 

“I didn’t want to go home.”

Holden nods, measuring his reply. “I understand.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” Bill says, sighing. He rubs his fingertips across his brow as he deliberately dispels cigarette ashes into the tray. “Look, I … I didn’t tell anyone because I don’t want a bunch of questions or sympathy, but ... Yesterday was it.”

Holden swallows hard as Bill looks up from his beer, his eyes pinched with guarded pain. 

“The divorce. It’s official.” He adds, his jaw rippling with tension. 

“Oh.” Holden breathes out. “I’m sorry. I-”

“It’s okay. I said I didn’t want sympathy. It’s just going to be … different- going home to an empty house from now on.”

The buzz of conversation around them fills in the dense silence as Bill lifts his beer to his mouth and takes a slow sip. Holden can see the slight tremor in his lips as they purse around the rim of the glass. 

“Well, um …” Holden says, clearing his throat. “This is nice. We could make it a thing, you know. Friday night drinks.”

Bill’s mouth tugs with a faint smile, the first Holden has seen in a few weeks. He gives a slight nod. “Yeah, okay.”

Without further discussion on the topic, Holden’s suggestion does become a routine over the next few weeks. Some Fridays, if they aren't too overloaded with work, they even leave half an hour early to beat the rush at the bar and snag a booth. At first, conversation centers mostly around work and other unobtrusive topics, but as the weeks stretch on, their friendship building back up from the ruins of Atlanta, the conversations become more personal - especially a few drinks in. 

One evening, Bill complains again of his empty house. He’s had a few whiskey shots in between his beers, and his eyes have that glazed, distant quality that telegraph lowered inhibitions across the booth. Less inebriated, Holden is shocked when Bill abruptly announces, “You know, it’s been a fucking year since I last had sex.”

Holden almost chokes on his beer. 

Bill takes a lazy drag of his cigarette, his mouth curling around a cloud of smoke in a frustrated sneer. “At least since before we left for Atlanta.”

“Well, um … have you thought about dating?” Holden asks, trying for a casual tone. 

“Fuck, I don’t know.” Bill says, scoffing caustically. “I’m trying to imagine myself going on a date with a stranger after twenty years, and …”

“Maybe not necessarily dating- _ dating _ .” Holden says, casting a curious gaze across the table at Bill’s clenched, flushed jaw, the top buttons of his shirt undone. “If it’s just about sex …”

“What? You mean like hooking up?” Bill asks, casting him a skeptical gaze. 

“Yeah, why not?”

“I don’t know. It’s not really my thing.”

“It’s just a suggestion.” 

Bill snorts, “Christ. Do I even remember how to do it with someone other than Nancy? That’s the real question.”

“I’m sure it’s just like riding a bike.”

“Maybe. But that isn’t the only problem.” Bill says, glancing around the pub. “Look at the women here, Holden. They’re way too young for me. Who am I going to hook up with?”

“I think you’re discrediting yourself. Besides, some women like a man who’s older than them.”

“Do they?”

“Yeah. Women like experience, someone who will take care of them.”

“How do you know that? The caring part?”

“I don’t know.” Holden says, leaning back in his seat and shrugging nonchalantly. “Because, you were married for twenty years, and if that doesn’t teach someone how to be selfless then I don’t know what does.”

“All right. You wanna profile my sex life?” Bill asks, his mouth tipping in an amused smile. “Look at all these women in here. Which one of them do you think I should approach?”

Holden scans the crowded groups at the bar and other booths. He’s no good at picking up women either, and most of the ladies here are with company. He can’t imagine any of them having sex with Bill. In fact, the thought of Bill touching any of them makes his stomach knot with disgust. 

He flushes as the realization strikes him. _ Jealousy? _ That can’t be right. 

Swallowing down the sting of bile in the back of his throat, Holden hurriedly picks out a girl from the bar who is standing alone, waiting for the bartender to get her drink.

“How about her?” He says, taking a sip of his beer. “She has a nice ass.”

Bill scowls at him. “That’s disrespectful.”

“Theoretically it’s just about sex. So you want it to be someone who has a nice body, don’t you?”

Bill shakes his head, and takes a long drag of his cigarette. “Theoretically.”

They both watch as the girl takes two drinks from the bartender and carries them back to a table where a young man is seated. 

“See?” Bill says, gesturing vaguely. “She’s with someone.” 

“Well, I guess you’re out of luck tonight. I don’t see anyone else who is alone.”

“What a disappointment.” Bill says, flatly. 

“I thought you said you missed having sex. I’m just trying to help you.”

“Well, think of another way. I have no interest in approaching strangers in a bar.” 

Despite the sarcasm in Bill’s voice, Holden does think about it. In fact, he thinks about it quite frequently over the next few weeks. The topic doesn’t come up again at the bar, but Bill invites him over for dinner one Saturday after Holden returns from a particularly trying case in New York. 

Holden drinks a beer while he sits at the patio table, watching Bill grill the steaks and some vegetables. He doesn’t feel nervous the way he thought he might when Bill first invited him, or needing to present himself in a certain way when he and Debbie had come for dinner a few years ago. It feels natural, the two of them inhabiting the same space outside of work, and he quietly wishes he had it more often. 

After dinner, Holden helps clean up the dishes and they break open a bottle of scotch. They take to the couch where the television is playing at low volume and the only light on is the lamp casting a yellow glow against the weight of impending dusk just beyond the window. Holden slouches down against the cushions, his belly warm with dinner and the buzz of scotch. 

“Thanks for dinner.” He says, casting Bill a smile. “I haven’t had a home-cooked meal like that since … I don’t know when.”

“You worked your ass off in New York. I figured you deserved it.” Bill says, his gaze gentle and fond as he scans Holden’s relaxed position beside him. 

When he turns his attention back to the television, Holden gazes up at him, watching the shadows play across the sharp, handsome lines of his cheeks and jawline, the cigarette smoke spilling lazily from his lips, the fabric of his shirt just tight enough across his chest to outline his pectoral muscles. 

Holden wonders if he’s had too much scotch. Or too much daydreaming. Then, he reaches over to put his hand on Bill’s thigh. 

Bill glances down at the warm connection, stiffening but not protesting. 

Holden tightens his grip. He can feel the ripple of muscle beneath his palm, Bill’s thigh instinctively wanting to pull away but staying still for some reason. He slowly looks up at Bill’s face, his breath catching in the back of his throat. 

Bill stares back at him, his nostrils flaring with an unsteady breath. 

Holden pushes up from the cushions, and leans against him, bringing his mouth within inches of Bill’s. His gaze focuses hazily on the bow of Bill’s lips, damp with scotch, puckered and soft but capable of much more. From this close distance, he can smell aftershave and smoke, the dense, luring scent sinking into his senses and drawing him closer. 

Bill swallows hard as Holden’s mouth brushes against his. It’s barely a kiss, more of a tentative gesture, an olive branch. He doesn’t wrench away, or demand what is that Holden thinks he’s doing. Instead, he urges his chin closer, accepting the graze of Holden’s lips. 

Holden opens his mouth slowly, sealing a wet, trembling kiss over Bill’s mouth. He’s shivering from head to toe with anxious exhilaration, but he can’t stop himself. That night at the pub, he’d wanted Bill to look at him instead of the potential female prospects. He’d wanted to scream “ _ I’m right here, and I want you.”  _ His body is screaming it now, moving in quicksilver flashes, beyond his control. 

The next thing he knows, Bill’s palm is clutching his cheek, and his mouth is moving hungrily against Holden’s. The heated charge of the kiss drags across his lips in desperate strokes, turning his skin raw and tingling, making his blood thunder. He leans into it, clutching at Bill’s chest, and groaning softly from the back of his throat. 

The next few minutes are a hasty, desperate race for satisfaction. While Bill’s hands slip under the hem of his shirt, he tugs at the fastenings of Bill’s trousers until the zipper comes undone. His erection urges up from the fabric, standing hard against the thin barrier of his boxers; Holden wraps his hand around it, jerking indelicately through the underwear. 

Bill grunts against him, his hips tilting into the coarse touch. 

Holden can feel him swelling against his palm, getting harder and harder as the heavy fondling and sloppy kiss goes on. His blood is surging and his head is spinning with lust as he pulls back, and gasps in a breath. 

Bill strokes at his cheek as he gazes at Holden over their nudging noses. His eyes are half-shut with need, and the color is high on his cheeks. He grunts an affirmative as Holden strokes him faster, rubbing cotton into engorged flesh. 

“Is this okay?” Holden whispers, still anxious despite Bill’s obvious compliance. 

Bill nods, his teeth pinching at his lower lip. He reaches down to clutch the back of Holden’s hand, easing the hurried pace of his rubbing. He gently pries Holden’s fingers back so that he can slip the waistband of his boxers away from his pulsing cock. 

Holden glances down, whining softly as Bill’s flushed, hard cock comes into view. The flesh is stretched taut over swollen veins, blatantly straining with approaching orgasm. The thick, flared head splits at the tip where milky juices strain, a scarce yet powerful sign of intense arousal. 

Holden draws in a shuddering breath as he wraps his fingers around the bare skin. It’s hot to the touch, skin soft over hardened veins. It twitches hungrily in his grasp when his fingers close, and his palm drags slowly down the shaft. 

Bill hisses softly, his eyes squeezing shut against pleasure. 

“Jesus, Holden.” He whispers, his voice fractured and raspy with need. It sounds unusual, the way he says Holden’s name just then, not at all the way Holden is used to hearing it. He sounds desperate, overwhelmed, aroused; Holden thinks he’s going to be hearing it in his dreams for days to come. 

Holden strokes him gently for a long moment, enjoying the way Bill’s hips thrust up against his touch and his mouth hangs open in broken gasps of pleasure. Then, without second-thoughts, because it’s what he wants to do - what he’s wanted to do for some time - he slides off the couch, and kneels between Bill’s trembling thighs. 

Bill gazes down at him with hazy eyes and trembling lips as Holden secures his cock in one fist and directs it to his mouth. On the first wet touch, his eyes slam shut, and his mouth stretches from his teeth in a grimace of intense pleasure. 

“Oh, fuck.” He pants, his trembling fingers nudging at Holden’s nape. “Fuck … yes, that’s … that’s good-”

Holden sucks down on him, lathering saliva down the shaft until it’s all slick and easily swallowed. It tastes of flesh and salt, and it pulses against his tongue, pleasure approaching rapidly. He applies an eager caress, mouth bobbing up and down the length until his lips burn and he can hardly breathe. Saliva is gushing from his lips and against his knuckles as he drags his fist up to meet his descending mouth, attentively stroking the entire length. 

Lacing his fingers into Holden’s hair, Bill clings onto him until the orgasm quickly peaks. He stiffens beneath the rapid ministration, releasing a choked cry when he comes. Holden pulls back, rubbing at his gushing cock as it spatters release across the front of his shirt and drizzles down the shaft and against Holden’s fist. It lasts for several moments, and Holden keenly observes every second, the way Bill’s face twists and creases with immense pleasure, the way his body trembles and lurches through the spasms, the way his cock shoots off in a seemingly endless release of pent-up fluid. When it does end, he sinks back against the couch cushions, breathing heavily, his flushed, perspiring chest straining against the undone buttons of his polo. 

Holden leans back on his heels, leaving his soiled hand to lay limply in Bill’s lap. His mouth tingles with friction, with the taste of cock. He can hardly believe what he’s just done, but the evidence is right in front of him. 

Bill slowly opens his eyes, staring at the ceiling for a few moments as his breathing evens out. When he looks down at Holden, his eyes are gleaming with satisfaction and bewilderment. His mouth tilts in a faint smile. 

“Christ Almighty.” He says.

Holden laughs, softly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should. That was …” Bill trails off, his cheeks flushing as he glances down at the cum drying into his shirt and his wilted cock. 

They don’t speak again for a few moments as the implications sink in. Holden shifts on his heels, feeling his own cock dully pulsing against his trousers. 

Bill pushes up from the cushions, and catches his chin between his thumb and forefinger. Lifting Holden’s gaze to his own, he draws him closer, and plants a warm kiss on his mouth. 

Holden hums a sound of surprise into the gesture. He hadn’t expected compliance, let alone intimacy. 

But, Bill isn’t done; and apparently, he has no intention of stopping at passive capitulation. He reaches down to unbuckle Holden’s belt and tug on his zipper while he keeps Holden’s mouth trapped in his own. Holden’s resulting moan is muffled in his mouth as he slips his hand under Holden’s briefs, and begins to stroke him deliberately. 

Holden tears his mouth away to draw in a gasped breath as his own pleasure is quick to rear its head. He presses his forehead against Bill’s, uttering a low, choked groan, and urging his cock into the big, warm grasp of Bill’s fist. 

“Oh my god …” He whispers, halting. “Bill, oh … I’m gonna come.”

Bill shifts closer, working his hand at a faster rhythm. His breath spills warm across Holden’s cheeks as he chuckles softly. “Good. That’s the point.”

“Oh, fuck, I mean- …” He chokes out, clutching at Bill’s chest. “I mean, it’s so fast, I-”

“Shut up.” Bill murmurs, kissing him again. His hand doesn’t stray, or ease it’s fast pace despite Holden’s whimpered complaint. 

Holden tries to hang on for a few moments longer, but he was worked up and longing for release long before Bill started touching him. He buries his forehead in Bill’s shoulder as he begins to come, his whole body seizing with the first white-hot spasm. It rushes through him in waves, cresting higher and higher, each clench of muscles seeming to endure longer and harder than the last. He hears himself moaning, but he can’t control the dangling stretch of his lips or the panicked satisfaction climbing his chest. He just hangs onto the solid strength of Bill’s chest until it subsides, milked to completion by Bill’s firm touch. 

He rests against Bill until the shudders ease and Bill’s hand retreats from beneath his underwear. Leaning back on his heels, he winces at the soggy sensation of copious release absorbing into his briefs. 

Bill braces his elbows on his knees, his gaze shifting between the carpet and Holden’s astonished expression. 

“Well, that was … unexpected.” He says, at length. 

Holden swallows hard, mustering a nonchalant reply. “You said you didn’t want to hook up with a random stranger.”

“Yeah, I did.” Bill allows, spreading his hands. He gives a soft laugh. “I didn’t think you were talking about yourself.”

“Neither did I.”

They share a quiet gaze for a moment before Bill climbs to his feet.

“Come on.” He says, “Let’s get cleaned up. I’m sure I have some clean underwear you can borrow.”

“Okay.” Holden agrees. 

He staggers to his feet and follows Bill to the bathroom. While they clean up, conversation is scarce and stifled, and he feels like a teenager after his first romp in the hay. He doesn’t know where this is leading, but he likes the beginning of the road; if Bill likes it too, maybe it can continue after tonight. Discreetly observing Bill’s mannerisms and relaxed behavior, he thinks that they both enjoyed it, and so far, his instincts have been right. 

~

The terms of their arrangement are never clearly defined, but Friday night drinks turn into one or two beers at the pub before heading to either Bill’s or Holden’s place for hasty, desperate blowjobs. 

The week after their first hookup, Holden isn’t sure what to expect. He goes to Command Post with desire simmering in his belly right next to his anxieties, telling himself to keep his expectations low and that nothing has to happen tonight; but Bill takes him by surprise again by polishing off one beer before suggesting they head out. In the parking lot, he nods for Holden to follow him to his car. 

It goes from there, one week after the next. If one of them isn’t in town, the week gets skipped, but they’re both equally, doubly eager by the time the next Friday rolls around. In February, Holden is forced to spend three weeks in Detroit on a case, and by the end of it, they’re on the phone almost every other night, panting and moaning into the receiver as they exchange needy _ I wish you were here’s _ and  _ I miss your cock so fucking bad’s.  _ When he gets back into town, his first order of business is to drive straight over to Bill’s house so he can get the release he’s been thinking of for days. 

Afterward, they’re lying in bed with Bill’s arm curled around Holden’s shoulders. 

“It’s Wednesday.” Holden whispers into the semi-darkness of the room. 

“Yeah.”

“Not Friday.”

“So?”

“So Friday is usually, you know … our day to do this.”

Bill’s shoulder shrugs beneath Holden’s head. “Ever think we were putting too many restrictions in place for no reason?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Like so many other things in their gradually evolving relationship, the topic is never discussed again, but rather mutually, silently agreed upon. Friday’s blowjobs meld into Saturday’s afternoon delights; into Sunday’s longing wrestle in the sheets before they’re forced to go back to the reality of work; into Wednesday’s midweek jerk-off in the car, in the entryway of Bill’s house, in the doorway of Holden’s apartment, in a hotel, in any place they can manage it; and back into Friday again, until at last, Holden is sometimes spending all weekend at Bill’s place. 

The sex is amazing, like nothing Holden has ever had before; and for the first few months, he spends every day caught between the fear that they could somehow be caught and the urgency to have the feeling over and over again. The desperation never seems to abate no matter how many times they touch each other, and these moments of secluded pleasure are like some kind of feedback loop of need, every one informing the next, feeding the flame, growing larger and beyond his control until one day in March when this juvenile, reckless arrangement of blowjobs evolves into something more real, something serious. 

They’re at Bill’s house, making out in his bed. Holden is pinned on his back, Bill’s fists firmly, erotically trapping his wrists above his head while his mouth makes quick work of Holden’s trembling lips and thundering pulse; Holden thinks he’s in for another mind-blowing suck-off when Bill stops and lifts his head. They share longing gazes, Holden’s tongue flicking eagerly against Bill’s retreating chin, and his hips writhing while the silence extends. 

Then Bill frowns, his eyes sharpening with blossoming realization. 

“I want to fuck you.” He whispers. 

Holden is senseless, overwhelmed. A dozen thoughts cross his mind -  _ I’ve never done that before. I don’t know what it feels like. Do you know what it feels like? It doesn’t matter because we’re going to find out.  _ He doesn’t say any of them, he just nods his head. 

The next week, they’re called out to California on a case; the West Coast sunlight and impeccable blue skies gleam right outside the hotel window while Bill strips him down on the soft, white sheets, fingers creeping inside Holden’s body in a way no one else has ever touched him before. 

Holden feels alive, unbound, swimming in surreal euphoria, and he’s glad that they’re in some anonymous hotel room beyond the familiar borders of their own, staid lives. He feels like someone else - someone brave, someone reckless, someone who doesn’t let their fears stop them - as Bill fucks into him, slowly and gently, like he’s done it before. In this moment, he can’t bring himself to care that Bill would never kiss him in public or hold his hand. He doesn’t care that this ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement could end tomorrow. He doesn’t care whether or not Bill loves him for him or for his body. He feels better, sexier, happier than he ever has before. 

When they come back from California, the Command Post Pub offers a grounding signpost of just how far they’ve gone since that first night in November. 

Bill asks, “Do you want to keep doing this?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’ve just been quiet since we got back.”

“I’m just thinking.” 

“About?”

Holden pushes aside his half-drunk beer. “I don’t want to talk about it here.”

They leave almost as quickly as they arrived. But they don’t talk about it. Like everything else, his never-ending thoughts get lost in a blur of desire, bare skin, skilled touches, one orgasm after the next. 

The rules keep changing, but he adapts with them, unwilling to acknowledge that the casual hookups are getting less and less casual as time progresses. At first, there was no cuddling or kissing after the fact. There were no whispers in the dark or sticking around for the post-coital glow, but slowly, like a stream gradually trickling into a gushing river, each encounter evolves into something more, something stronger. Bill holds him longer, kisses him more, strokes his cheek, and his chest, and his arms. The intimate touching spills out of the bedroom, onto the couch when they’re hanging out watching television, even infiltrating work with muted touches on the shoulder or elbow that carry secretive intent. 

Holden refuses to question it. It’s too good, even if he is just following the breadcrumb trail of his desires, darting from one heated scene to the next, taking whatever comes to him, but always hungry for more. They’re feeling their way ahead in the dark by touch alone, and he thinks they should really talk about it more; but it’s hard to shatter the fantasy with words when he’s cuddled up in Bill’s arms, and the moment feels perfect enough on it’s own. 

He shoves down his thoughts - ideas, fears, wants that have copulated into a hive - for as long as he can. While rainy April melds into the warming summer infancy of May, he keeps on letting Bill touch him, fuck him, hold him, ignoring the yearning in his chest every time Bill’s body leaves his at the end of sex. He doesn’t want to define that feeling until he has to, but it’s getting harder and harder to disguise as something else. 

~

A few weeks later, a case in Texas goes south and Holden has his first panic attack in six months. When he comes home, exhausted and worn thin, he goes directly to Bill’s house. It’s raining, a pattering summer shower that smells clean and ripe, striping his cheeks with slick, warm droplets as he trudges up the front steps towards the porch light shimmering against the hazy, pink dusk. 

Bill opens the door before he has a chance to knock. He’s in his pajamas, a beer dangling from his hand that he quickly sets aside when he sees the despairing look on Holden’s face. 

“Hi.” He says, softly. 

“Hi. Can I come in?”

“Of course.”

Holden shuffles across the threshold, shivering from the rain and his own quivering, fragile emotions. 

“What’s wrong?” Bill asks, pressing the door shut and turning to cast him a worried gaze. 

“I thought I was doing good.” 

Bill’s frown deepens. “Good?”

“I had a panic attack.” Holden whispers, his chest tightening. “I feel like I’m going to have another one right now.” 

Bill’s hands gingerly clutch his elbows, guiding him closer. The cool blue of his eyes stretch like searchlights across the devastation on Holden’s face, seeking out the broken parts that he’s intent upon holding back together again. 

“What can I do?” He asks, his palm cradling Holden’s cheek securely. 

Holden presses his eyes shut. “Just hold me.”

Bill pulls him into an embrace without question, and Holden curls against his chest, burying his face in the familiar warmth of his neck. He leans into the security of Bill’s arms around him until the overflowing sense of panic eases, the tightness in his chest loosens, and the frayed panic mellows into a dull hum in the back of his mind. 

He lifts his mouth from Bill’s neck, and plants a desperate kiss on his mouth, eager to be divested of his thoughts, his fears, his insecurities. Bill doesn’t ask again what he needs; it’s as if he knows, down into his bones, just exactly how Holden wants to be taken care of it, and it’s a relief that Holden doesn’t need to speak it out loud. 

He lets Bill lift him off the ground and into his arms, carry him to the bedroom, lay him down, strip him naked. Laying his shuddering limbs back against the sheets, Holden closes his eyes and submits. He moves with Bill’s guiding hands, unresistant, his body and needs fluid and easily impressionable to the myriad of touches rained across his bare, tingling skin. The need unfolds slowly in his veins, unraveled by Bill’s practiced touch, his mouth all over Holden’s body, stamping branding kisses, extracting the last of the pinched panic from his chest.

When Holden is limp and worked open with a pair of steady, pumping fingers, Bill rolls him onto his side and curls up behind him. Their bodies rock together in unison, hips slapping softly at rhythmic intervals, twin needs straining towards completion. Bill’s arm wraps around his chest to hold him close while the other reaches down between his hips, finding his dick hard and dribbling with impending release. He strokes Holden steadily until the orgasm arises, surging through him with breath-taking force that offers a blanketed white amnesia that lasts so many moments shorter than he longs for. 

When it’s over, they lie in a heap of trembling, sated limbs and muted, raspy breaths. Bill’s wilted cock slips out of him, but his groin presses close to Holden’s backside, leaking cum glazing between their clutched bodies. He traces Holden’s bare hip with his fingertips as he plants a slow row of kisses down Holden’s neck and shoulder. 

The singe of his lips brands Holden’s skin along with the kisses that had come before, each of them cropping up on his body like little wildfires that burn past careless facades of unfeeling sex drives and delayed intimacy. Exhausted, mind brutalized by the paralyzing details of the case, he can’t lie to himself any longer. 

Pressing his eyes shut against tears, Holden reaches down to still Bill’s wandering fingers against his hip. 

Bill’s breath diffuses against his bare shoulder. “What?”

Holden sniffs, and draws in a hitched breath. “I just realized … it’s been six months.”

Bill is quiet for a moment, contemplating the milestone and what it means. Finally, he clears his throat. “Yeah, I guess it has been.” 

“It’s going to be a year before we know it.”

“Could be.”

Holden opens his eyes to the fixtures of Bill’s bedroom, a sight which has been just as familiar to him as his own home. 

“Do you ever think about where this is going?” He asks. 

Bill falls quiet again, and Holden wishes he could see his face; but Bill’s arm is locked tightly around his chest, keeping them in place with his gaze boring into the back of Holden’s head. 

“Yeah, of course I do.” He says, at last, offering a muted scoff. 

“What do you envision … when you think about it?”

Bill’s tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth as he swallows hard. His breath tickles Holden’s earlobe right before he presses a soft kiss against his nape. 

“This.” He murmurs. 

“Just this?” 

The question hangs out in the air, awaiting absolution. It’s been waiting long enough, Holden thinks. Waiting so long that it’s turned from an easily ignored balloon drifting above their heads to a meteor burning towards the earth. 

“What do you want me to say?” Bill asks, pushing up on his elbow. “We haven’t exactly called this something other than what it is.”

Holden rolls onto his back to cast a hesitant gaze up at Bill. 

“I know. That’s partly my fault. I didn’t want to think about it because I thought if I acknowledged it was more than sex it might … it might end.”

Bill’s brow furrows. He lets out a low sigh as he strokes Holden’s cheek. 

“You thought I would end it?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Why? Because you think I can’t stand the idea of being with you?”

“I don’t know.” Holden says, “I don’t know what you think because you never tell me.”

Bill’s gaze cuts away, but his hand stays on Holden’s cheek, thumb absently grazing skin. 

“I know what I think. Do you want to hear it?” Holden whispers. 

Bill’s chin lowers, his eyes pressing shut. His profile is pensively anxious for a moment before he nods. 

“I think you do things to me.” Holden whispers, “Things I never thought possible. Things I never would have done otherwise. You make stupid and reckless. When we’re together like this, I don’t care what happens. I don’t care about work. I don’t recognize myself - at least not this part of me. I don’t know how to stop it, or control it, or do anything other than let you touch me - over and over again. The past six months have been … better than anything I’ve ever felt with anyone else; it scares me, but I don’t want to lose it. And I do not want to go back to being who I was before this.”

Bill’s eyes open midway through Holden’s confession. They widen slightly, and his mouth goes lax with surprise. When Holden stops talking, he just stares for a moment, alarmed. 

Holden swallows hard, panic rising up in his chest. _Did he say too much? The wrong thing?_

“You … you mean that?” Bill asks, at length, his voice trembling, petrified yet exhilarated. 

Holden nods. “This case was really hard, and the whole time, all I could think about was getting home - to you. I just wanted you to hold me. I feel safe when I’m with you - that means something doesn’t it?”

Bill’s mouth tilts in a trembling smile. His hand pets Holden’s cheek harder as he bends down to press a firm kiss to his mouth. Their mouths cling onto one another longingly for several moments, neither of them wanting to let go as warmth blooms between their clasps chests. When Bill pulls back, his eyes are pinched against rising emotion. 

“So what?” He whispers, offering a faint laugh. “You want to date-date?”

Holden purses his lips against a growing smile. “Yeah. I kind of do.”

“Okay.” Bill says, nodding. 

His thumb strokes Holden’s cheek thoughtfully as sobriety eclipses the gentle teasing. He draws in a steadying breath. 

“You know, it’s not going to be easy. We have to work together. We have to maintain appearances. I can’t kiss you or hold your hand outside of this room.”

“I know.”

“That doesn’t bother you?” 

“No.” 

“Are you sure? Think about it, Holden. I mean really think about it. There’s probably some girl out there who would be happy to make you her husband, who you could publicly date, who you could have a life and a family with. You’re going to settle for me?”

“I don’t see it as settling.”

Bill scoffs, joy sparking in his eyes despite his apprehension. “Well, okay. If you can live with it …”

“Yes. I can live with it.” Holden says, pushing up from the pillows to kiss Bill on the mouth, “If it means living with you, I can live with it or anything else.”

“All right.” Bill says, fingers clutching at Holden’s nape to draw him into a deeper kiss, “I’ll hold you to that.”

Summer comes into full-bloom a few weeks later, the radiant sunlight chasing away the rain clouds and the darkness. Holden feels himself blossoming right along with the daffodils, the first sign of the new growth popping up from the verdant lawn. They don’t try to take it slow - they never have. Despite the previous lack of conversations, Holden knows that this shared need for love and intimacy between them had existed long before the six month anniversary. He had felt it in Bill’s lingering touch, seen it in the flinch of his eyes whenever he pulled away. He’d sensed it, down into his bones; but the days of groping around in the dark, stumbling into one another, unable to speak the words that could guide them forward are behind them. It’s daylight, and everything is golden. The world looks new, and bright, and full of possibility. 

**Author's Note:**

> Additional credit goes to Taylor Swift's song Daylight which I've recently fallen in love with. That really is what true love feels like 💛☀
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm [prinxcesskayy](https://prinxcesskayy.tumblr.com//) on Tumblr!


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